


Snowdrop, Snowdrop

by atlaskat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magic, Poetry, Sadness, Sort Of, happy ending i guess, just... kinda sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-22 21:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21083018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atlaskat/pseuds/atlaskat
Summary: Draco Malfoy's body was built out of snow, and he was given a heart of glass. This is not only a metaphor.





	1. Chapter 1

At first snowfall, the wizard left for the forest;

his footsteps disturbed the silence.

He glanced around, as if asking the trees to guard his secret,

a flick of the wand

a word of old, a word most did not know.

The snow, glimmering white, serene in its perfection

began stirring,

began rearranging itself.  
  
The wizard brought out a shape of glass  
  
as smooth and perfect as the snow  
  
a translucent heart.  
  
He placed the heart amidst the spiraling snow  
  
and made a cut into his palm  
  
let the crimson drop down;  
  
it became the red of lips,   
  
the red of cheeks,  
  
colored veins blue under the snow-skin.  
  
From the snow dune emerged  
  
the most perfect child;  
  
pale as milk,  
  
eyes like the winter sky.   
  
But winter is cold,  
  
winter is barren.  
  
Winter will only last so long,  
  
as snow melts.  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Draco picks his friends carefully, everyone knows that.  
  
Or, he likes to think he picks them, but in reality those he surrounds himself with are only those who can withstand him. Because Draco doesn't eat like normal people do. He has to eat pieces of others, pieces of their love or their dreams or their happiness.   
  
He used to ask people nicely; used to show them how to willingly hand these parts of themselves over. But that scared them off, and his father told him to stop asking.   
  
Everyone knows being around Draco will drain them. But some people still arrogantly approach him, still think so highly of themselves that they will let Draco eat the glowing embers of their souls. Those that can't handle being close end up empty, and grey, and miserable.

Silly people who are drawn to curses, who think the otherworldly is beautiful and painless.   
  
They show up at the estate at times, show up lifeless, dull, teary-eyed, without anything new to say. _I thought it wouldn't happen to me, _they cry.

Lucius Malfoy never lets them in, never lets Draco see them.

But it is stupid, really, to approach a child made of snow and decide winter will not have an effect. Winter always claims a sacrifice.

Only people who are like trees can stay close to a person made of winter. People who can shed their leaves time and time again -- headstrong ones, who wouldn't despair even in an encounter with a dementor. Because Draco is never satisfied, even when he drains someone completely; other people's life forces fade so quickly, when they're away from their source, as if his mouth is a cold fire. But as long as other people become dull and grey and lifeless for his sake, Draco shines and glimmers, he stands tall and spotless, his head crowned with milky-white locks.

Lucius was wise to give his son a glass heart. Only a few times have children been made of snow -- it is a curse, after all -- and they have always been given human hearts, before. But no human heart can withstand being inside such a body for long. Those other, poor winter children, melted in their first spring; Draco has withstood each one.

And Lucius was wise to build a child out of snow, because snow can be packed and manipulated into any shape, so the boy would easily become a Death Eater when it became necessary.   
  
But then again, glass breaks easily -- it certainly cracks under high pressure.   
  
Draco's heart cracked the first time when Harry Potter refused to take his hand, on the stairs, all those years ago. Draco knew Harry was the boy who lived -- and figured, no one else should be as headstrong, and got his hopes up.   
  
Green, he decided, was his favorite color; those eyes were emeralds, or the ocean, or the forest in full bloom. And then he decided it was his least favorite color.

And when spring came he drained so much life from the plants that many of them died -- the botanics and herbology professors fought to revive them, but to no avail.

And as time passed, green made him almost nauseous, because of all the times he saw green flashes, _Avada Kedavra!_

_Sectumsempra _cracked his heart, too.

Maybe Lucius had not been wise,

after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea if this is consistent with the timeline or not. It's been a long time since I read the books. Hope nobody minds too much.

Harry was always aware of Draco, at least at the back of his mind. In sixth year though, Draco occupies so much of his thoughts, he starts noticing things he didn't before.

Draco never did eat a lot, but Harry simply took him for a picky eater. He sits at the same tables as everyone else, has a plate like everyone else -- sometimes even with food on it -- yet he only manages half a bite. Or less.

Someone mutters "dementor" as Draco passes, and there's a look of -- well, Harry doesn't quite know -- deep resentment or fluttering panic before he says, "My father will hear about this! 

If Harry only knew.  
  
Before Christmas Harry conducts an experiment. He sends some of the most delicious candy, flavored like butterbeer, anonymously through Draco's letter owl.

Draco scrunches his nose, his eyes suspicious slits as he looks around the room. He doesn't even open the candy.

So Harry uses the room of requirement, asks for Malfoy's favorite food. And there's a glowing light; pulsating, fluttering a little, like the heartbeat of a bird.

Some time before _Sectumsempra_ Harry (on one of his espionage missions) catches Draco in a solitary activity. But, he realises, it's nothing suspicious; Draco folds paper, carefully, puts skill and time into each crease. His white fingers flutter, too. The paper becomes a bird. The bird stretches its wings -- it flies, for a few second, before it tumbles down, becoming paper again. There's a deep look of disappointment on Draco's face.

After _Sectumsempra _Draco eats even less. He no longer even nibbles on his food, instead he sits still, only moving in his gracefully fluid way if he has to. As if he's entranced by something much deeper and darker than anything else. His grey eyes become pools of dark water.

Harry doesn't know, but real food is like eating coals for Draco. It burns his lips and throat and it doesn't taste much better than ash itself. And he doesn't eat the life force of others like he used to, either.

_Do fragments of souls linger on objects_, Draco asks himself, when he has the time, while turning the pages of a book he has seen Harry read in the library. Mostly he conspires at Hogwarts though -- trying his best, or his worst, at following his orders. He regrets every prick of ink making up the horrid tattoo on the inside of his arm. The way it swirls over his skin. A promise that he isn't free.   
  
It's not easy to eat, at all, when there's only one soul he wants. Only one heart.

Strangely, though, even as he stops eating completely he doesn't become dull and lifeless. His edges only become sharper; his skin colder; his eyes darker. Otherwise he glistens the same, almost harsher now, almost in a blinding way. Draco becomes just a few shades more otherworldly. Just a bit more translucent.

And he asks himself, bitterly, since a child of snow is so perfect, how can he not win the heart of a normal human being?

The way Harry looks at him now, with eyes that don't say _Avada Kedavra _at all even though they're green. Granted they're suspicious but they also contain something else. Curiosity, maybe. Concern, even.

There's a war going on, and Draco is caught between the sides.   
  
He becomes sharp and gleaming like an icicle, weaker and weaker. Harry notices the change. Notices the spidery-blue veins creeping higher onto Draco's pale arms.

There's a moment, when they run into each other on the spiraling stairs of the astronomy tower. Draco looks pained. His eyes are even darken than before, stormy. Water trickles from his fingertips, just like it trickles from icicles in sunlight.


	4. Chapter 4

"Are you alright?" Harry asks then, his mouth dry, is it quite right to ask someone such a thing after hitting them with the spell for enemies?

Draco scoffs bitterly, pushes his way past on the staircase. Sunlight from outside plays over his face.

"Malfoy, I want to help you," says Harry, grabbing Draco's wrist as he walks. He tears himself free, as if the touch is burning, as if Harry would discover the tattoo through simply touching his arm.   
  
"There's nothing you can do." Draco snarls, his eyes angry and sad and as sharp as biting snakes.

"You don't know that," Harry tries, now it's his turn to stand on a staircase with an outstretched hand. "Malfoy, it could do you well to be more honest. And you should eat."

And the answer almost slips past his lips, _yes, God, I'm so hungry. I'm so hungry it hurts!_ but he swallows the words back down. His entire body aches to take Harry's hand. Cry and whine and ask for help, for salvation.

He doesn't. "You stopped by at the wrong time, then," he says coldly, "I'm only honest when it storms."

"So the thunder covers any truth?"

_I can't be sure._

_Is this Harry?_

_I can't be sure._

_You knew it was me. Why didn't you say so?_


End file.
